inside the church steeple & surrounding environs at 16 yrs./don't be fooled-esoteric below

Whether we are consciously inspired by a heavenly accord, or not--though it be from a churchly experience or a sense of clarity, perfection is guaranteed to be the projected-temple of the wastes of consciousness, while under duress or anykind of acute consciousness. A sacrifice is made when an individual renounces immediacy of rewards through pleasure seeking, or worldly gain. But what is true for the macro-world is true for the microcosm! Patterns are like the abundant mundane ones where our time is caged, & then habits lend cognizance of the temple-projected. Seeing the road unfurled like signs of dispensation you belong, the car seems to lurch in rhyming procession at the pace of your heart--each beat brings on the next blemish on perfect plains of pavement--the explanate moment not unlike the heat mirages in constant amidst we are wired to define as abstract, & the road lives at will. We give all the unrealism its just due, and tend to ignore this taste of liberation--maybe we are all on the alter of sacrifice as each moment is at least evaded by some extent w/out an enduring resolve.